


Repetition

by ozuttly



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Angst, M/M, Time Loop, ieyasu-centric, kind of a character study but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozuttly/pseuds/ozuttly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he faces the battle of Sekigahara, the Eastern Army is victorious. It was to be expected, really; Ieyasu had gathered more allies, had the overall more powerful army. He was a better leader than Mitsunari, who had fallen to pieces after the fall of the Toyotomi, who couldn’t function without somebody to take him by the hand and guide him. In a way, the outcome had been decided from the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repetition

When he faces the battle of Sekigahara, the Eastern Army is victorious. It was to be expected, really; Ieyasu had gathered more allies, had the overall more powerful army. He was a better leader than Mitsunari, who had fallen to pieces after the fall of the Toyotomi, who couldn’t function without somebody to take him by the hand and guide him. In a way, the outcome had been decided from the beginning.

Mitsunari’s flesh gives easily under the power of his fist. It felt too easy, in a way; a man of his caliber, poor leader though he was, should have been harder to break. Instead, he crumples easily, and Ieyasu stands for a moment, wordless, over his body. The body of his rival, his friend, the man who stood between him and his ideals, between this country and peace.

He does not feel victorious. He crumples as well, falls to his knees and gathers his dear friend in his arms as soon as his soldiers have given him a moment of peace, and regrets that it were ever to come to this. He presses his lips to the bleeding wound in Mitsunari’s head, to the place where the bone is soft and caved in, and promises him that he never meant for it to end this way.

***

Ieyasu Tokugawa wakes the next day, back under the care of the Toyotomi, with tears in his eyes and a feeling of loss deep inside his gut. He rolls over to his side, hand groping beside him for the warm body that he knows is there. Mitsunari doesn’t stir at all; he’d exhausted himself the night before, finally, and passed out just outside the room the two of them shared. Ieyasu remembers gathering him up and tucking him into his futon, pulling the blanket over him so he wouldn’t catch a cold.

He goes to brush Mitsunari’s bangs out of his face, to get a better look at him while he’s sleeping, but his hand freezes mid-air, fingers hovering just above the other’s temple.

The soft crunch of bone echoes in his mind, along with the give of flesh and something soft and wet. His hand begins shaking, and the tears spill down his cheeks unbidden.

Mitsunari stirs then, blinking blearily as he looks up at him. He’s still befuddled by sleep, and looks even more lost and confused than normal as Ieyasu’s tears splash against his face.

“Ieyasu…?” Alarm comes to his voice as he sits up, clearly having no idea what to do. “What is the meaning of this? Did something happen to lord Hideyoshi?” The panic in his voice is so palpable that Ieyasu almost laughs. But then he remembers the feeling of Mitsunari’s head caving in under his fist, and the sound comes out broken and hollow.

“No, it’s nothing like that… Just a nightmare. I’m glad to see that you’re alright,” he says, the tiniest of smiles on his lips, and Mitsunari looks somewhat like a deer caught in the headlights. He blinks a few times, clearly unable to comprehend what was going on, before he turns his head away in defiance.

“Foolish,” he grunts, but for once he doesn’t berate Ieyasu for his show of emotion. Instead, he surprises him by standing up and shuffling to the nearby table. He returns with a handkercheif, handing it to Ieyasu with his usual scowl firmly in place. “Dry your eyes. I will not dare allow you to show such a disgraceful face to lord Hideyoshi.”

Ieyasu accepts the handkerchief with a smile, the emotion bubbling up in his chest giving way to relief and normality and the soft, warm affection that he’s always felt when in Mitsunari’s presence.

A different kind of bond to the one he shares with lord Hideyoshi and his soldiers. Ieyasu is not so foolish to be ignorant to what it means, but he is also not so foolish to act on those feelings.

He dries his eyes and offers a bright and shining smile, and Mitsunari’s eyes narrow in his usual disapproval as he takes the piece of cloth back.

***

The peace does not last, and soon Ieyasu finds himself again on the field of Sekigahara, a dream from months before fluttering behind his eyelids. The Eastern Army is, again, at an advantage. Mitsunari would never be able to inspire the trust of his generals, not the way a true leader should. But then, Mitsunari was never meant to be a leader.

It isn’t long until Mitsunari arrives at his encampment, fury and rage and loss swirling within him, leaking from his very pore, from the very way he holds himself.

They fight. Mitsunari is fast, as always, but Ieyasu is strong, knows his friend’s movements the way he knows the back of his hand.

The hand that—

He hesitates, for only a split second, as he recalls the feeling of cracking Mitsunari’s skull and killing him. He recalls the feeling of loss and anger and regret, because there had to be another way.

Mitsunari’s blade sinks deep into the flesh of his forearm, and there’s a spray of red as the limb – Ieyasu’s weapon - is cut mercilessly away. The pain is unimaginable, but the action creates an opening, and Ieyasu’s remaining fist connects with the underside of Mitsunari’s jaw. The crack resounds loudly, and as Mitsunari steps back to collect himself, Ieyasu steps forward, raises his hand and—

For the second time, he feels Mitsunari’s bone give way beneath his hand. For the second time, he holds the body of his dear friend, the one bond he gave up to secure the future of so many more. And for the second time, he cries.

Hours later, he passes out from blood loss, his mind too fuzzy to even reassure his soldiers that he was, indeed, alright. All that comes from his lips is a delirious murmur of ‘if only’.

***

Ieyasu once again wakes up to the sound of birds, cuddled in his futon with Mitsunari laying not a foot away. His vision blurs, but he forces the tears away, refuses to let them come. Instead, he hides them with a smile and shakes Mitsunari awake, chuckling lowly as the man growls irritatedly at his insolence.

***

The third time Ieyasu faces Sekigahara, he does not hesitate. He’s trained himself this time, gone over the memory – for that was what it was, a memory – of how it felt to steal away his precious person’s life with his own hands. He listens to Mitsunari’s words, to his hurt and his accusations.

He listens to his cries of how all he wanted was brotherhood, of how Ieyasu had spurned and betrayed him. The words cut deep, but Ieyasu’s face remains schooled and calm. He wishes that it were so simple as brotherhood, that it were so simple as protecting one precious, important bond. But this is not about Mitsunari, nor is it about Hideyoshi, or even about him.

This is about bringing an end to an era of war, about bringing a peace to the lands that Hideyoshi never could. Ieyasu knows that his philosophy is right, that this is the right way, the only way.

When he slays Mitsunari this time, he catches the body before it can fall to the ground, gently laying him to the dirt the way he would lay a lover down to bed. He leans forward, as though to press a chaste and gentle kiss to his lips, but stops himself.

The next time, he swears, he will find another way.

***

The sixth time Ieyasu arrives at the battle of Sekigahara, the smile he gives his troops is well-practiced and flawless. Only Saica Magoichi and Date Masamune notice its hollowness, however neither of them mention it to his face. Masamune looks at him, a look far deeper and more penetrating than a one-eyed man should have, but Ieyasu smiles and waves him off.

He is no stranger to this battle; he knows exactly how it will end. Many of his men are glad of his confidence, feel empowered towards victory. Ieyasu himself feels little.

This is for the sake of the people, he says to himself as he dons his bracers. He will fight Mitsunari, because Mitsunari will not be convinced. One of them will win, and one of them will lose, and Ieyasu has never once entertained thoughts of being a loser. For he is the one who carries the weight of the east, of the entire country on his back. Sacrifices must be made, and he cannot be swayed by sentiment.

He listens to Mitsunari’s anguish, and he doesn’t bat an eye. He runs through the battle feeling less like a man and more like a machine, his movements the shifting of gears and turning of clockwork. In the end, his fist connects once more with Mitsunari’s head, and he’s sickened by the fact that the sound no longer brings tears to his eyes.

***

The fourteenth time Ieyasu awakens snuggled in bed next to a sleeping Mitsunari, his joints ache and his throat feels like it’s closing up. He wakes Mitsunari with a smile, as always, and laughs when Mitsunari admonishes his jovial attitude. He watches Mitsunari dress, preparing for the audience with Lord Hideyoshi and Lord Hanbei, and it takes a moment longer than normal for him to join him.

Things move forward, as they always do, and as always, Ieyasu watches the love and devotion on Mitsunari’s face as he looks up at Hideyoshi. As always, he pats Mitsunari on the back, tells him how wonderful it is to have such an important bond. Mitsunari shrugs him off, however he is not angry, and Ieyasu grins proudly as another part of him falls away.

“Mitsunari,” he begins as they leave the meeting, preparing to head into battle. His brain doesn’t catch up with his mouth at first, and Ieyasu himself is surprised by how steady and light his tone is. Mitsunari does not stop moving, does not even turn to acknowledge him. But he does speak.

“What is it?” He asks, and Ieyasu’s breath catches in his throat, because he doesn’t know. A part of him, a very very small part of him wants to tell Mitsunari of his plans, of how he’s going to kill Hideyoshi, and then later kill Mitsunari himself on that god-forsaken field. But Ieyasu knows that such a confession would do no good, so instead he leaves it up to instinct.

“Would you give me a kiss?” he asks, and he laughs at the way that Mitsunari stops dead in his tracks, his shoulders rising defensively like a cat who’d just been threatened. The hysteria doesn’t reach his voice – it never does – and neither does the regret. He doesn’t know why he asked, but he knows that Mitsunari, furious that Ieyasu would mock him in such a way, would demand a reason. So he quickly offers up his cheek, smile still in place. “For good luck.”

The look that Mitsunari gives him is not one of hatred or anger. It’s wary, instead, like he doesn’t understand the request but also is not completely opposed to it. Ieyasu inhales sharply, one hand rising to wave it off, but Mitsunari catches it in mid-air at the same time that he catches Ieyasu’s lips in his own. It’s a rough kiss, fast and ruthless as is everything about Mitsunari, and his lips come away bloody from where teeth clumsily met skin.

They stand entirely too close for a moment that is entirely too long, and Mitsunari’s breath is hot on Ieyasu’s face. For once, the eastern general does not know what to say, so Mitsunari chooses to close the silence instead.

“If such a foolish charm will help improve your service to the Toyotomi, then so be it,” he says, his voice rougher and huskier than usual before he pulls away and storms off. Ieyasu stands in the hall, hands hanging limply at his sides, and for the first time in a long time, he finds himself unable to smile at Mitsunari’s retreat.

***

The fourteenth time that Ieyasu kills Mitsunari at Sekigahara, he cries, and it’s the first tears he’s spilt in what feels like years. They sting in his eyes and in his chest, and he clings tight to Mitsunari’s still-warm corpse because he knows that if he lets go, he’ll be too tempted to bear his friend the good will to move on.

Ieyasu is far past the point where he can stop.

***

Ieyasu has lost count of which Sekigahara this is.

He’s preparing for battle when Masamune approaches him, arms crossed over his chest in a gesture of disapproval.

“ **You know** ,” he begins, and by now Ieyasu swears that he’s heard the foreign words often enough to decipher the whole language if he has to. “You’re a pretty good actor.”

Ieyasu smiles, as he always does, hands open in a welcoming gesture as he turns to face his ally.

“Haha, I’ll take it as a compliment, one-eyed dragon. Although I’m not sure what you mean.” His tone is perfect, but Masmune’s stance doesn’t change, nor does the searching look in his one eye. Ieyasu meets his gaze head on, and neither of them waver.

“ **Bullshit.** You know how to pretend so not to worry your troops, and you know because you’ve done it a million times before.”

The words should be accusing, but they’re merely contemplative instead. From one actor to another, perhaps. Ieyasu doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t, smile fixed firmly on his face. Masamune watches him for a few moments more before he heaves a heavy sigh.

“Ishida sure holds a grudge against you, huh?” He says, and it almost catches Ieyasu off guard. He stills for barely a second before he nods his head, looking towards the maps and plans laid out on the table in front of him so that he no longer has to look Masamune in the face. It’s a sign of submission – of weakness – he knows, but somehow Ieyasu knows that he can’t continue to hide while under the scrutiny of that single eye.

“Yes, well. He has his reasons, as do we all.” It’s a vague enough statement, one that has just the right amount of empathy, and Ieyasu has long since stopped feeling guilty for how much he has to lie to those he calls his friends.

But deceiving Masamune has never been easy, and the man merely hums in response.

“Yeah, I guess we do,” he says, and one hand rests for a moment on Ieyasu’s shoulder, not quite a comforting gesture, but not admonishing either. “Just make sure that you really sit down and think about those reasons every now and again, **you see?** Sometimes it’s easy to think you’re fighting for one thing when you’re really clinging to another.”

Ieyasu’s lips curve up, but he can’t even bring himself to really smile, not when he’s being seen through so easily.

“I’ll take your advice to heart. Though I know very well what I’m fighting for. A country at peace, without war, where people can focus on the bonds and friendships that unite us. I doubt that will change any time soon.”

Masamune is not convinced, but Ieyasu cannot bring himself to say anything else.

The eastern army is a well oiled machine, and he will not allow a fault in the carefully honed clockwork that he’s constructed. If he allows a mistake, for just one gear to falter, then the entire thing will come crashing down.

He cannot allow that. Not after everything he’s done.

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title for this work: Mahou Shoujo Mitsunari Magica and the sparkling adventures of best friend Homuyasu.  
> there's certainly enough suffering for it.


End file.
